It’s almost eight when I finally get home. I had three back-to-back sessions after school, and I’m drained, exhausted, and starving, not to mention pissed, frustrated, and annoyed. I’m about to raid the fridge when I hear voices from Mia’s bedroom.
I walk up to her door, and I realize she’s talking to her parents on speakerphone. I am suddenly grateful for the cheap construction of our apartment building.
“—that’s nice to hear about your class,” her mom, Molly, is saying. It sounds facetious. “But how do you sound exhausted already? You’ve only been in school for how many days?”
“Three,” Mia answers, and she does sound tired. I get pissed all over again thinking about why. “But of course I’m exhausted. It’s hard, guys. Teaching is hard.”
I hear her dad Joe’s booming laugh. “It’s nothing compared to the hours your brother puts in. Or Elias.” I get pissed all over again over this comment.
Mia’s parents have always been like this. They’ve always kind of put Mia in our shadow, from sports to grades to jobs after graduation.
“Your brother scored three goals at his game today, Mia, isn’t that amazing?” they said, while she was peacefully readingBrave New World. Ateleven-years-old.
“We’re so incredibly proud of you, Leo, making valedictorian,” saying nothing to Mia after she was made salutatorian.
“We paidhow muchfor you to go to college, Mia? Just so you could become anelementary school teacher? Your brother made six figures straight out of school.”
It’s always been pretty uncomfortable, but Leo’s always just tried to smooth it over, while I… kind of was just annoyed about it. Tried to give Mia my own compliments, hair ruffles, noogies, whatever. But tonight, for whatever reason, I’mpissed.
“There’s a lot going on at school already. Our new principal is a nightmare. But I also probably sound tired because I went out last night.”
“Well, that’s good, at least. Cozy up to your superiors.”
“It’s not like that, Dad. I’m not trying to climb the ladder or anything. PS 2 isn’t a Fortune 500,” Mia sighs.
“Tell me about it,” I think I hear him mutter.
“What did you do, then, Mia?” Molly asks absentmindedly, as if she’s in the middle of doing something else.
“Andrea and I went to happy hour, but we ended up hanging out with a bachelorette party for this guy and all of his friends. It was their last night in New York, and they convinced us to go out with them to this gay club in Bushwick. It was a blast, honestly, but we were out late and I was too messed up to take the train home alone, so Andrea and I just split a cab to her place. I went straight to school this morning.”
The blood rushes from my face, and I am filled with relief. Pure relief.
Molly hums. Like she’s no longer listening, or no longer cares. Meanwhile, I am torn between wanting to melt into a puddle and wanting to set off a confetti cannon.
Mia barrels on, trying not to notice. “Andrea and I were originally just going out to… hang out. Andrea’s… looking for a boyfriend,” she says delicately.
“What does Andrea do for work?” Joe cuts in. “Have you considered Leo?”
I cringe.
“She’s also a teacher,” she answers.
“Never mind,” Joe retorts.
My heart drops, my elation completely erased after those two comments. My feelings are… hurt? I frown, and I walk away from Mia’s door to pace in the living room. Is this what Mia’s always felt like, talking to her parents?
I’m slumped back on the couch, rubbing my eyes, feeling a headache coming on, when I hear Mia calling my name from behind her closed door. I sigh, pick myself up, and trudge over.
“Elias, I know you heard all that. I saw your feet pacing under my door crack. Get in here,” she’s saying.
I open the door to her room, and she’s back to my Mia again, freshly showered and clean, hair damp and straight and freshly brushed and face makeup free. She’s sitting up on her bed, her legs covered by her comforter. She folds back the corner of the blanket opposite from her, then pats the empty side of her bed. “Come here,” she says sadly, clearly affected by the conversation, too, and I can’t stop my feet from moving.
I climb in next to her, and it smells like her shampoo and her body wash and Mia. She tucks the covers over me, and we both snuggle into her pillows, separated by inches of space and staring at the ceiling.
“I failed at man-eating last night,” she finally says.
“I heard,” I answer.
